MISD: B is for BlameMrs. Bicker, having purchased for the eighth time a faulty childproof latch for her medicine cabinet, picked up the phone and dialed the items manufacturer. She made it very clear that her ten-year-old sons safety was her first priority and, should he attain injury from the contents of the aforementioned medicine cabinet, she was quite prepared to sue.MISD: B is for Blame by Empnezz
The manager of the company, who had been having a decent day for a change, got off the phone and felt a pit of anger-incited nausea settle in his stomach. Upset at having his day ruined, he blew his nose and called over to the main factory, ordering an immediate quality check of all production lines.
The factory floor manager slammed the phone down and chewed his thumbnail. He had argued against an immediate quality check, not wanting to waste time and money by pausing production. However, his superior had managed to be quite persuasive, reminding him that he was
C.O.D. The tattoos, they caught on incredibly fast. I mean, it only took about half a year after the Death-caster came out. That's what the press called it, the Death-caster. Anyway, about 6 months after the first televised prediction, these tattoos starting showing up everywhere. It went from fad to craze to routine. Everybody did it. You would get some blood drawn. The machine would quiver a bit and hum. You'd get your paper and you'd go straight to the tattoo shop. Pretty much everyone has their cause of death, their C.O.D., tattooed these days. The accepted place to get it became the top of your left arm. Every time you go to check your watch, there it is in simple letters with a line underneath: Fire, Gunshot, Car Accident, Suicide.C.O.D. by guiltywhiteboy
Walking down the street you can see it all. Plane Crash and Brain Tumor are holding hands, window shopping. Prison Riot pauses to let his dog urinate on the curbsi